


love begins at home

by seektheinfinite, thisissirius



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015)
Genre: Bond is stealthy, Cats, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Stealth dating, q is oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5217740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seektheinfinite/pseuds/seektheinfinite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s almost painful watching his cats’ distress at being turfed off of Bond; Q has to stop himself from giving in and letting Bond stay.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>It starts with a cat. There's a lot of weirdness in-between. The end is something completely unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love begins at home

**Author's Note:**

> we came up with this idea sitting in costa. it started off as a fic involving cats and presents, and ended up as.... this. 
> 
> warnings include possible nosebleeds and coughing fits (both of which were suffered by your authors while coming up with this idea)
> 
> enjoy :D

Q’s bringing the MI6 system back online when he’s startled by the sound of the lift. He’s fairly sure he’s the only one in the building, as there’s nothing anybody can do until he has everything up and running again. He briefly considers reaching for the gun under his chair, and keeps one hand on his thigh just in case. 

He’s definitely not expecting James Bond to be on the other side of the doors, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “007! I thought you’d left.”

“I considered it.” James has always been a man of few words, but that’s ridiculous. 

“Oh? What changed your mind?”

Q blames the combination of sleep deprivation and relief at seeing Bond again as the reason he doesn’t see the box until it’s placed on the desk in front of him. Bond gives him a smirk. “This.”

While fairly sure that Bond wouldn’t give him something that would explode in his face, Q is still suspicious. Bond doesn’t give gifts. “What is it?”

“Why don’t you open it?”

“I’m not entirely sure I should,” Q says, leaning over to pull the flaps open. There’s a suspicious hissing noise coming from inside and Q immediately shuts them again. 

“Huh,” Bond frowns and looks down at the box. “That didn’t happen to me.”

Q has a brief hope that maybe he’s asleep at his desk and this is all just a _really_ weird dream. He gives himself a quick pinch, but no, Bond is looking at him strangely and the box is still hissing at him. 

“It’s a cat.” Bond looks pleased with himself as he leans casually against the desk. 

“Yes, thank you, 007, I got that much.” Q pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why is it on my desk?”

Shrugging, Bond lifts the flaps. Q takes a step back just in case. “You have cats. He doesn’t have anywhere to go. Ergo, you take the cat, everyone’s happy.”

“No, everyone is _not_ happy. It doesn’t even like me!” As if to prove his point, the cat gives Q a glare and turns his back, rubbing against the hand Bond is currently stroking him with. 

“You’ll grow on each other.”

Q is tired. He’s had a long day and Bond is giving him a look that’s equal parts smug and confident. He blames that for the reason he says, “Fine, he can come home with me.”

There’s no point arguing against an immovable force.

\- - - - 

It takes a week for Q branch to get back on its feet after the Nine Eyes fiasco. You wouldn’t think you could dismantle the whole of MI6 quite so thoroughly, but Denbigh had been swift in his eradication of the double-oh program. In that time, Q’s been kept busy with bureaucrats and politicians when he would much rather be putting his own branch in order. He has a _system_ and it’s been messed with. Bond never does like to do things by halves. If he’d only been nicer as a child, maybe this would never have happened.

That’s not _really_ fair, but not only has Q got to start from the ground up, he now has a killer cat in his apartment. 

When Bond comes down the lift the second time, he is thankfully empty-handed. “Q.”

“007.” Q’s been brought up to be polite, which is the only reason he doesn’t punch Bond in the face. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m off to Istanbul. What do you have for me?”

Q puts his hands in his pockets, feeling a sense of satisfaction as he gives his answer. “Nothing.”

Bond’s face actually falls. Q almost feels bad, but then he remembers the Porsche. “Not even a gun?”

“If you hadn’t thrown yours in the _river_ , you’d have one.”

“That was necessary!”

“You did it to make a point. That’s not necessary.” Q rounds the desk and sits down. He’s playing with fire and he’s pretty sure he’s going to get burned, but he’ll go down treasuring the look on Bond’s face. 

“Are you serious?” Bond is trying to keep his tone level, but there’s a hint of danger underneath. 

Q would be terrified, but he just has to think of the white terror running around his living room, or the Porsche sitting at the bottom of a river. “You leave with a Porsche that wasn’t even yours, may I remind you, and you don’t even bring me back a piece of it. Instead, I get a cat who claws me to death in my sleep.”

There’s a tense silence where Q is half-afraid Bond is going to shoot him, but then he remembers Bond doesn’t have a gun. There’s the element of danger in Bond’s hand-to-hand combat training, but Q’s a fast runner. 

Finally, Bond looks contrite. It’s a startling expression on a man who spends most of his time looking like he wants to kill you. “If I apologise, will you at least give me a weapon?”

Q pretends to think about it. He’s not going to say that M would probably fire him if he sent out one of his agents without a weapon. Instead, he replies, “You can have a standard issue. If you bring that back in one piece, I might upgrade it the next time.”

He can see Bond thinking about it, but they both know he’s going to agree. He does need a weapon after all. “Fine.”

“Also an apology. For wrecking my car. And for the demon cat.”

Bond makes a face. “I’m sorry for the car. If the cat doesn’t like you, that’s your fault. He was quite taken with me.”

“Why don’t you take him then?” Q’s quite willing to part with the vicious furball. 

“I don’t have anywhere to live. You don’t really need an apartment when you’re dead.” Bond says it nonchalantly, but it’s been a while since Skyfall, so he must be living somewhere. 

“How can you not have somewhere to stay? I assume you’re not sleeping here.”

Bond shrugs. “I get by.”

Q can read between the lines; Bond’s probably going from house to house, depending on who he’s sleeping with at any given time. “Right. Well. I still don’t like him.”

He turns his back to get Bond’s gun, but gets a prickly sensation on the back of his neck. It’s the feeling he associates with an agent - specifically Bond - touching things he shouldn’t be. “Put it down, 007.”

There’s an air of guilt around Bond when Q hands over the gun. “Thank you. What did you name him?”

“What?”

“The cat.” Bond checks the gun, as if Q would ever give him a malfunctioning weapon. 

“His official name is Kahn, but I tend to go with Little Shit or Fuck Off depending on what damage he’s done this time.”

Bond looks amused. “Kahn like Star Trek?”

Q is surprised at the reference. “Firstly, I would never have pegged you for a Star Trek fan, secondly, no, like the inventor of TCP.”

It’s clear Bond doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but he still nods. “Sure. Though I think Avalanche is better.”

Before Q can reply to that erroneous naming choice, Bond sweeps out of the room like he was never there. Q needs a cup of tea. Or twelve.

\- - - - 

When Q gets back from lunch a few days later, there’s a gun sitting on his desk with a post-it note. _One piece. J._

\- - - - 

Q’s actually enjoying a rare night at home. After three days of all-nighters thanks to 004 and a misunderstanding involving a bicycle, cows and a lampost, he’s glad to have it. Never had it crossed his mind as he signed the contract taking control of Q branch that he would ever have to deal with something like _that_.

He’s got the TV on a random show he’s not actually watching, a crossword on the coffee table, and a cup of Earl Grey in his favourite mug. It would be perfect if not for the fact that Kahn is currently sitting next to him on the sofa, eyeing him as though he’s going to leap at any second and take a chunk out of Q’s shoulder. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” he says, aware that he’s talking to a cat. “If I give you a treat, you leave me alone for the rest of the night.”

Kahn can answer, but Q likes to think that they’ll come to an understanding if he has the treat in his hands. 

He’s digging through his cupboards trying to find said treats when there’s a knock at the door. Taking the tin out with him to the hall - keeping on Kahn’s good side is more important than whoever’s at the door. He keeps the chain on as he pulls it open, and almost drops the tin when he sees a dressed down Bond on the other side. “Bond.”

“Q.” Bond has his hands in his pockets and he’s actually smiling. It’s extremely disconcerting and Q finds himself searching the floor for another cat carrier. “Can I come in?”

“Why?” 

There’s a long pause where Q suspects Bond is trying to think of a reason to be at Q’s apartment. “I wanted to see how Kahn was doing?”

That is the stupidest reason Q’s ever heard, but he finds himself opening the door anyway. He’ll think about why later. Bond saunters in like he owns the place and Q follows, taking the biggest treat out of the tin for bribing Kahn with. Maybe now he won’t get mauled in his sleep. As soon as Bond enters the living room, Kahn jumps down from the sofa and winds himself around Bond’s legs. There’s a crash from his bedroom and then Turing and Gatling come running out, meowing loudly. 

Q shouldn’t have brought the tin in with him. He waits for all three cats to give him expectant looks, but instead all three crowd around Bond, rubbing heads and bodies against his legs. “Do you have Tuna hidden in your jeans?”

Bond snorts. “If I gave up all my secrets, I wouldn’t be a very good spy.”

“Yes, I can see how attracting cats makes you a deadly weapon.” Q can admit to himself that he’s a little pissed off that even bearing treats the cats prefer Bond over him. He’s not sulking, he just really needs to put the tin in the kitchen. When he comes back, Bond is lounging on the sofa, all three cats curled up on his knees. 

Q doesn’t yell, but only out of respect for the neighbours. He wants to tell Bond to get out, to stop stealing his cats’ affections, but instead he grabs his tea and plonks himself down in the armchair. There’s an awkward silence that Q’s not going to break because Bond’s an asshole and deserves his stony silence. This is his apartment and _he’s_ not the one intruding. 

Bond seems quite happy to just sit there, stroking the cats. Q’s not prepared for this kind of thing and doesn’t know what to do. He could never have imagined something like this, let alone actually witness it. When it’s clear Bond isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, he picks up his crossword, determined to finish the brain teaser.

“Nine down is Azerbaijan.”

Q holds his pencil so hard it snaps. “Out.”

Bond frowns. “What?”

“Get out.”

Neither of them move for a beat and then Bond says, “But I just got here.”

“I didn’t invite you. You come in, you steal my cats and then you finish my damn crossword! There’s a line, Bond, and you just crossed it! Why are you _here_?”

This time the silence is deafening and Q almost feels sorry for it. He’s been pretty accommodating of Bond’s weirdness lately, but he has his limits. 

“I’m sorry, Avalanche, but it looks like I’ve overstayed my welcome.” 

Dear God, he’s talking to the cats. This is not something that fits his mental image of what Bond does in his downtime. Not that Q tries to spend too much time thinking about that. 

Kahn makes a disgruntled noise as he’s deposited on the sofa. Turing digs his claws into Bond’s leg. “I’m sorry, T, but I have to go.”

It’s almost painful watching his cats’ distress at being turfed off of Bond; Q has to stop himself from giving in and letting Bond stay. Gatling has been curled up on Bond’s shoulder, but when it’s clear he has to get down too, he takes an ungraceful leap onto the back of the sofa, and sits facing the wall. 

“Now look what you’ve done. Sooty hates me!”

“Sooty?! His name is Gatling!”

“Sooty’s better.” Bond reaches out to give the disgruntled cat a stroke, but Q grabs his arm. 

“Please leave. Now.”

Bond finally does as he’s asked and heads into the hallway. “I’ll see you later, Q.”

As soon as the door closes behind him, Q looks at his three upset cats and drops into the armchair. “What the hell just happened?”

\- - - - 

Later that evening, Q’s just settled into bed when he hears noises coming from the living room. He doesn’t keep a gun in his home, so he grabs the lamp from his bedside table and climbs out of bed. He pushes open his bedroom door slowly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, not that he can see anything without his glasses.

Q thinks he can something in the shadows, but then sees Turing sitting on a carrier bag he’d thrown by the kitchen door earlier. When Q curses out loud, Turing starts to clean her paw, like she hasn’t just given Q a heart attack. 

“Bloody cats. As bad as Bond.”

Q shuts the door to his bedroom and crawls back into bed. He’s practically asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, so he doesn’t hear the footsteps passing his bedroom on the way to the spare room.

\- - - - 

“Do I get any special gadgets this time?”

Q’s still annoyed with Bond from the night before, so he’s less inclined to indulge Bond with his usual banter. “Gun there. Palm print activated. You’re welcome.”

There’s a startled silence. “Thank you.”

Q waits until he hears the lift ascending before looking up. There’s a plastic mouse on top of an envelope sitting on the desk in front of him. He picks the mouse up gingerly, putting it aside to get to the envelope beneath. It has _Q_ written on the front in Bond’s unmistakable scrawl. Inside are crossword cutouts from a selection of newspapers and magazines. Q can’t help but smile. Dammit Bond makes it hard to stay angry.

\- - - - 

Q’s deep into a thirty-six hour stint when the unmistakable smell of Thai green curry interrupts his typing.

He looks up to see Bond picking up one of his newest inventions. He starts to complain when he sees the takeout boxes on the desk. “You bought me food?”

“Well I’m not going to eat it.”

That’s Bond-speak for _yes_. Q only realises how hungry he is when he pulls the boxes towards him and smells the amazing food. 

“You should take better care of yourself.” Bond thankfully puts the gun back on its stand. “One of your minions mentioned that you’d been here for a day and a half without a break. My life is in your hands, and I need your brain working at full capacity.”

There’s a compliment in there somewhere. Q starts digging into the food. “Your concern is almost touching, 007.”

Bond’s smiling again, and Q finds it very disconcerting. He keeps walking around the room, and Q doesn’t even stop him picking anything up, too busy devouring the first proper meal he’s had in days. He hates to admit it, even to himself, but Bond is probably right. He does have nine agents under his care and he’d hate for a repeat of the cow incident because he wasn’t functioning at full capacity. 

It’s when he’s pulling the won tons towards him that he notices the white box sitting next to his laptop. “Is this yours?”

Bond doesn’t even look up from the highly explosive sunglasses he’s holding way too carelessly, even though he should know by now that everything in Q’s workshop is dangerous. “Who’s name is on it?”

“There isn’t a-” Q cuts himself off when he sees the same post-it as before, only this time he’s fairly sure that’s a blood stain on the corner. Christ. “Am I going to want this gift?”

He doesn’t get a reply, so he tentatively opens the box. Inside are several packets of expensive Indian tea. They’re brands he can’t get in London, even with his very extensive network of contacts. For the first time, Q’s not sure what to say. 

“Earl Grey isn’t your only tea of choice, is it?” Bond still isn’t looking at him, but Q likes to think he knows the tone is apprehensive. 

“No,” Q’s proud of how level his tone is. He’s genuinely touched by the gift, but he doesn’t want to give Bond any cause to be smug more than he has to. “I drink these.”

“Good.” Seemingly satisfied, Bond leaves the room. 

“Oh-kay. Thank you. You’re welcome. Goodbye, 007. Goodbye, Q.”

\- - - - 

Bond is actually having an uneventful first day of his latest mission and there’s nothing Q can do to help him, so M forces him to go home and get some sleep. It’s probably a good call. When Q gets home, his bins are standing empty on the doorstep, even though he’s sure he didn’t put them out the day before. It’s when he goes to get himself a cup of Earl Grey and there’s a half-open bottle of Vodka sitting next to a bottle of Vermouth that he thinks he’s starting to lose his mind. He doesn’t even like Vermouth.

Kahn actually deigns to sit on his lap when he sits down with his tea. He’s finally getting around to doing the crosswords Bond gave him. He’ll think about the alcohol when he’s had a bit more sleep.

\- - - - 

He gets a call from Bond two days later to say the mission is done and he’s coming home. Satisfied with another job well done, Q is in a good mood when he runs into Eve on his way out.

“Oh, Q, do you think you could give this to Bond for me? It will save me posting it.”

Q frowns and takes the envelope. It has Bond’s name, but his address underneath. “Why would Bond need mail at my address?”

Eve gives him a quizzical look. “He gave us your address as his place of residence.”

Q thinks to question this, but remembers Bond saying he didn’t have a fixed address. It probably would be difficult sending mail to the houses of conquests he doesn’t want to see again. “Fine. I’ll take it.”

He shoves the letter into his bag and thinks nothing more of it.

\- - - - 

There’s someone in his apartment.

Q _knows_ he locked the door this morning when he left, he’s no longer sleep deprived, so there’s no reason for it to be open. He grabs the first thing he can from the stand by the door, which just happens to be his umbrella. At least he’ll be able to stab the burglar if nothing else. He lifts the umbrella over his shoulder like a club, and as he enters the kitchen, he sees a figure standing by the counter. He swings the umbrella with as much force as he can muster. 

“Jesus, Q!” Bond is cradling his shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What am I doing? What are _you_ doing?” Q doesn’t drop the umbrella; he might just hit Bond again. 

“I’m making a cup of tea. I thought I’d have one ready for when you got home.”

Q doesn’t understand what the hell is going on. He’s used to Bond’s eccentricities, but this is just ridiculous. “How did you get _in_?”

Bond opens the cupboard over the cooker. “I used my key.”

“What key?” This conversation is running away from Q at top speed. “I never gave you a key.”

“I made one,” Bond says, like it’s natural for someone to make a key without the owner of said key’s permission. 

“Oh, well that’s alright then.” Q’s aware he sounds hysterical, but Bond is way too calm for a situation that requires far more explanation. Bond grabs too mugs from the cupboard. “How did you know I kept my mugs there?”

“I’m a spy. I know where people keep their mugs.”

Q lets the umbrella fall to the floor. “That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”

Bond looks contrite. “You didn’t give me time to come up with a decent reason that isn’t ‘I’ve lived in your house for six months’.”

Q needs to sit down. He walks into the living room and drops onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands. “Exactly what do you mean you’ve lived in my house for six months? I’m pretty sure I would know!”

There’s a long silence and then Bond comes into the room, holding two mugs. He wisely puts them down and stands on the other side of the coffee table before replying. “You would think, being a genius, you would have figured it out before now.”

Q wishes he’d kept the umbrella. He really wants to beat some sense into Bond because he really isn’t making any right now. “How about we start from the beginning?”

“I knew from your file you had a two-bedroom apartment. You’re never here, so I thought you wouldn’t notice if I borrowed the room occasionally.”

“Judging from what you’ve just said, ‘borrowed’ and ‘occasionally’ aren’t the words I would use.” Q’s aware that he should probably be freaking out right about now, but maybe that comes after the anger. Suddenly things start to make sense; the cats liking Bond so much, the strange noises in the middle of the night. Even the bins. Q is thankful that he’s not actually going insane, not that he’s going to let Bond off the hook. “You couldn’t have just asked?”

“You might have said no.” Bond looks less like he’s expecting Q to attack him. 

“So you thought stealthily living in my home was the better option?”

Bond comes around the table and hovers near the sofa. “I didn’t _want_ you to say no.”

Q doesn’t know what to say to that. “Oh. _Oh_.”

It makes sense. The gifts, choosing Q’s home, the cat. Q hopes he’s not reading this wrong, but something about the way Bond - _James_ \- is looking at him, says that he isn’t. 

“I can leave if you want me to.” The expression on James’ face tells Q that’s the last thing he wants. 

“I don’t want you to,” Q says, realising it’s true as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “Besides, you’ve been here for six months. Everyone at work knows you live here. You should stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> we hope you enjoyed our first collaboration. hopefully not our last!


End file.
